


Not the one for you

by yunnikakennings



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: M/M, Romantic Soulmates, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-17
Updated: 2017-08-03
Packaged: 2018-11-15 04:48:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11223660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yunnikakennings/pseuds/yunnikakennings
Summary: Soulmate AU in which a trail will lead you to your soulmate at some point in your life. A slight glow or shimmer will be visible whenever you see your soulmate but will disappear once you both have an established relationship (either as friends in the case of friendship soulmates or lovers in the case of romantic soulmates).It's all pretty simple really and nothing should go wrong.For most people at least.But of course Simon and Baz don't quite fit into "most people".





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Hope you enjoy this! (((:

**Simon**

It’s been an absolute shite of a day today. I woke up an hour late because I slammed the off button instead of the snooze button, dashed off to work without any breakfast, (my colleague, Rhys, commented that my hair looked clearly uncombed, yes why thank you, Rhys, you made my day so much brighter with your comment) and had my stomach growling till lunchtime. To make it worse, my boss reminded me of some paperwork that is severely overdue (which I had entirely forgotten about, fine, I plead guilty) so my lunchtime, which I was very much looking forward too I may add, was snatched away as well. I ended up surviving on some takeaway lunch which, thank merlin, Gareth helped me buy.

And finally, to top it all off (yes icing on a cake that could break the Guinness record with its size), I was given a “gentle reminder” to attend tomorrow’s meeting with a “very important client” by the intimidating name of Tyrannus something (I can’t remember his name except that his middle name was a herb for spaghetti and his last name rhymed with bitch and I giggled then immediately stopped myself because it’s probably plain rude to make fun of someone’s name, even in your own head-it’s not like he chose his name) to discuss the upcoming collaboration for some project which could “potentially be the key to attracting a huge customer base and helping our company clinch top brand this year”. (My boss says that for every single meeting we have with the new clients and it never happens, it just never does, though maybe I partly-okay mostly to blame because I can never convince the clients to accept our proposal. But that’s not entirely my fault either because the proposal my company came up with is completely bizarre, with a great risk, which clients obviously don’t want to take (although, admittedly, if it works, it’d probably boost the consumption of our products by a great deal).

So now I’m stomping along the street of London, scowling to myself as people scuttle away from me. (Penelope says I make people twitchy and uncomfortable when I’m angry. “But everyone makes everyone else twitchy and uncomfortable when they’re angry, Penny.” “You, more so than others. Simon, somehow your anger, and frustration and grief and whatever other intense feelings just take up a lot of space. Almost like your emotions are overflowing and steaming up the whole area like a red haze.” I shrugged and she dropped the topic.) It’s not like I’m being hostile on purpose, I grip my briefcase tighter and pick up my pace. I can’t wait to reach home, gorge down dinner, binge on supper and just flop down in bed and be done with today.

And then I see it, a faint trail of shimmering glitter along the cemented paths. I glance around, as my heart rate picks up. All the other passersby hurry on with their companions, oblivious to the sparkles on the ground. Is this it? Really? I bend down a little and squint but the gleaming trail starts to fade slowly. Some people pause to stare at me oddly.

It must be. It is.

I’ll finally meet her today.

I run and chase the trail, smiling widely as I charge down the streets.

Towards my happily ever after.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Baz**

There was a time when I was younger, perhaps around four or five, when I used to obsess over the tales of soulmate magic.  Strangers that followed a mystical trail, almost like fairy dust that let them to their other half-knowing immediately upon their first meeting that they were meant for each other-feeling that connection-that click almost like the turn of a key in a lock that told them that they fitted each other perfectly like two pieces in a jigsaw. Some said meeting your soulmate for the first time was a tidal wave of feelings that swept you up in its warmth, a tint of nostalgia or a hint of recognition like maybe you’d seen those familiar features somewhere before but couldn’t quite put your finger on it-perhaps in your dreams, perhaps even in your previous life. There were a few that claimed to feel a sharp pull, an intensity that built deep inside you, yanking you forward like there was a mystical magnet in your gut. That the magic didn’t stop till you both touched, be it a handshake or a kiss or a punch (but obviously you wouldn’t want to punch your soulmate upon first meeting them would you, who even does that?). I’d loved the idea then, it was like having a rubber band that bound you to your soulmate, having the assurance that even you were both to run in the opposite direction that fate would snap you back together eventually, that you’d always belong to someone, that someone would always belong to you, always.

Forever together.

Never apart.

Then she left. No, she didn’t leave. She was torn away from us and life, as I once knew it, crumbled, leaving the fabric of our family torn apart at the seams, in shambles.

It took years to mend. Fi threw in a resignation letter and left her job at the firm for one with more flexible hours, pulling odd jobs (selling information) just to have time to help keep the household running to at least keep our family behind the facade of normalcy. My father let his work consume him, whittle away his grief, strip away his emotions till I guess there was nothing left of the old him, a lingering absence of a father figure, disappearing acts at family gatherings and excuses that didn’t quite match up (he didn’t even bother getting his story straight after a while). Bakery buns replaced the hot scones my mother once baked for breakfast, silence seeped through the cold walls where my mother once chattered and sang, my father either laughing or joining in, just a house where there was once a home.

But time slathered a numbness over the pain and we carried on, my father with his job, Fi juggling work and the kids, and I with my education. Things were quiet for a while, almost like we were dragging our feet through the routine of life.

And then he came home for dinner one day.

And the next day and the next.

We thought maybe he’d come back for good. That he’d decided to play father again.

And then a week later, he brought Daphne home.

And three months later, they married.

It wasn’t so much that I hated Daphne, I like her, honestly, she’s patient with the children and kind to me and Fiona, I might even go so far as to say she is accepting of who I am as a person even if there have been slightly awkward conversations between us (“but does that-does that ahem mean you identify as female, Basilton?” “no Daph, not at all”).

It was just the notion that maybe soulmates were replaceable. Just a pairing that could be easily reversed, reshuffled-almost as though it held no weight. That maybe my soulmate had already replaced me, found someone else-someone lively, someone with a perfect family, maybe even someone who’s a girl.

This year I’m twenty-five.

Most people find their soulmates before they turn twenty, so I’ve stopped looking forward to it. Maybe I missed the trail somehow-I wouldn’t know.

So now I’m sitting here with Agatha Wellbelove, some girl my father set me up with, in a quaint coffeehouse down the street from where I work.

She’s beautiful yes, I could see why my father picked her out, with blonde hair that glistens where the sun rays fall on it, warm honey-brown eyes, fair skin tinged with faint pink when she blushes-she’ll probably be attractive to most boys. I guess my father didn’t get to know her personally though-I highly doubt he’d have chosen her then.

Agatha Wellbelove.

Cherry lips that twist into a smirk when she’s found the right company.

Not quite the girl you see on the surface.

She’s amusing alright-just probably not the sort my father would have chosen if he’d seen her capacity for witty sarcasm and clever retorts.

It’s a typical Wednesday, we had just sat down at our usual spot and started looking through the menu when I feel it.

A sharp pull forward, I almost lose my balance and smash headfirst into the table.

And then the café bells clang turning all heads.

He’s here.

Magic spilling all about him like an overflowing sink coming off him in waves.

And then he turns.

Blue eyes. Bronze curls.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello again (:

**Baz**

He stumbles into the café, a hurricane of gold curls and crashing force.

The magic tugs me forward a little (or maybe I’m swooning, it’s not beneath me) and I lean over the wooden table, tempted to clutch at my stomach (but I don’t).

Grinning widely, he finds his way to our table and flashes a winning smile at Agatha, offering his hand for a handshake and I feel a slight pang (honestly, am I so unloved that my soulmate would rather direct his attention to her? Maybe he’s straight anyway-we may not be romantic soulmates after all, just platonic ones) and the sinking feeling of disappointment settles in me. What was I hoping for anyway?

The pull keeps tugging but I’m so caught up in indignance I simply offer him a cool smirk when he finally offers me his hand for a firm handshake. (Agatha slipped off to buy some coffee after briefly grazing his hand with hers)

I almost sigh as the magic stops, seeping out, creating a warm, fuzzy feeling.

“And who might you be?” I drawl, hand clasped against his sweaty palm.

He gapes at me then stutters out his reply, “S-snow. I’m Snow, Simon Snow.”

“Funny name, that,” I grimace. (I love it. It suits him. God, I‘m so far gone.)

 

**Simon**

“Funny name, that.”

“Simon is a perfectly common and decent name to have, as far as I know,” I grit out, don’t start a fight with him, don’t start a fight with him, Simon.

“I’m talking about your last name, obviously and you seemingly don't know much”

“Oh, like yours is any better,” I snap.

 

**Baz**

Hell no, I’m not going to tell him my name, not when he’s just going to mock it.

 

**Simon**

“Your hair looks…” he pauses dramatically, gaping in mock horror.

“Vaguely uncombed. Yes. I get it. I know. I overslept thanks to my clock,” I growl as I drag out a chair and plop myself down unceremoniously. What’s his problem? Not everyone can be as posh an arse as he is.

“Yes. Blame the clock,” he gloats, lips twitching into a smirk, aristocratic eyebrow raised in amused disdain, “I think you left your manners at home too, sitting here without asking.”

“I had a fucking awful day today, alright,” I spit, my face heating up, “Would you just cut me some slack.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, please may I sit here. Thank you very much,” I adopt a posh tone and then sit down anyway. (Okay, maybe that was rude. But I’ve already sat down. No way am I going to stand up or apologize and let him mock me for it.)

 Is he trying to make me look bad in front of Agatha? (Were they dating? Is that it?)

“Wow. What a way to talk to your soulmate,” comes the deadpan reply.

“My soulmate’s buying coffee. I’m not talking to her, I’m talking to her acquaintance,” I retort, “Who also happens to be a fancy, stuck-up jerk who seems to think everyone is beneath him,” I glare at him, half-praying that looks could kill so I could do everyone a favor and rid the world of him. Obviously, that didn’t work out, considering that he’s still here completely unruffled, cross-legged with his designer clothes and carefully styled hair on point.

 

**Baz**

“My soulmate’s buying coffee. I’m not talking to her, I’m talking to her friend. Who also happens to be a fancy, stuck-up, jerk who seems to think everyone is beneath him.”

Wait, what?

He glares at me, blue eyes glinting with animosity, freckles disappearing under a crimson flush of anger (or embarrassment, or maybe both), lips turned down, almost like a pout and I subtly turn away, gazing out of the window with an air of nonchalance (I hope) like my soulmate didn’t just fucking insult me on our first date (although I did insult him first but it wasn’t like I could help it, he shook her hand first and I’m his soulmate). This is far less romantic than what I dreamt of.

Then the thought clicks and realization hits me.

Aleister almighty, he thinks Agatha is his soulmate.

Sometimes I wonder if fate would ever get tired of fucking me over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feedback and constructive criticism welcome ^^


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